Fun With Slash
by PNT
Summary: A parody of all the AragornLegolas slash fics out there. And MerryPippin. And... Read and learn.
1. Aragorn and Legolas

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody. I'm just ruining their lives for them.

_A/N: Any letters in underlined italics are a result of the author sticking her nose in where she really doesn't belong._

_The author wishes to inform the Honoréd Reader that this story is in extremely bad taste and not for the naïve. However, she wishes to express the desire that you read it anyway and review. Unless you're naïve or hate bad taste._

_The author wishes to thank EggoWaffles for providing inspiration for the title._

Fun With Slash 

Aragorn and Legolas were kicking orc butt. They tended to do this a lot. And they were doing it now. The orcs were really getting their butts kicked this time.

"Nice backhand chop," said Legolas, stabbing an orc with an arrow.

"Thanks, Legolas. That means a lot to me." Aragorn decapitated an orc, sending the head flying in Legolas's direction. Legolas ducked and kicked orc butt. Very literally, in this case.

"Oh, Aragorn," said Legolas. "Do you really mean what I think you mean?"

"I don't know," said Aragorn. "Do I?" An orc screamed a battle cry in the background. Or something that was supposed to be a battle cry, anyway. It actually sounded sort of like the death wish of a cat.

"I don't know. That's why I was asking you." Legolas shot an orc falling out of a tree and yelled a battle cry that sounded somewhat like, "For hygiene!"

"Well, what do you think I mean?" Aragorn stabbed an orc through the intestines. He could tell from the smell. Legolas wrinkled his perfect nose.

"For hygiene!" he yelled again.

"What I hope you mean, because I feel the same way," said Legolas, adding more romance into the statement than was strictly necessary. Aragorn blushed. Did he really?

"Oh, Legolas, do you really mean what I think you mean?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

"Why," asked Aragorn, "do I have this strange feeling of déjà vu?" He yelled a really foul curse in Rohirric at the nearest orc. Everyone's ears shriveled. Éomer could be useful for some things.

"I have no idea," said Legolas, straightening out his ears. _Whether they were pointy or not is a matter to be discussed by experts. Let us just say that they were perfect, pink and shell-like. The Honoréd Reader may read in "pointy, perfect, pink and shell-like," if he/she/it so desires._

At this point, the orcs ran away screaming like little girls, and Aragorn and Legolas were free to continue their conversation without battle cries. Whatever they sounded like.

At that point, it began to rain. The water fell from the sky like rain. Which it was. _Ahem._ It muddied the ground up something awful, too. Legolas's fancy leather boots were getting wet, so he suggested that the pair go inside a conveniently placed cave.

It was indeed very conveniently placed. The caverns were long and winding and not particularly damp, either. Soon Aragorn had a cheerful fire going with his Rangerly skills. Legolas watched admiringly. He pulled some Lembas Marshmallows™ out of his pack and stuck them on a carefully sanitised stick that he carried with him everywhere.

"Are those Lembas Marshmallows™?" asked Aragorn. "How did you get them? You're from Mirkwood, and Lembas Marshmallows™ are an exclusive delicacy of Lórien. I know. I tried to get my hands on some, but Galadriel caught me sneaking them out of Lórien and," his face took on a contorted expression, "punished me severely."

"I have my ways," said Legolas in what Aragorn considered to be a very sexy and mysterious tone.

They sat around the campfire, toasting and eating their Lembas Marshmallows™. It was very peaceful and romantic. It reminded Aragorn of his best date with Arwen, the one where she'd kissed him. Many, many, many, many _Many, many, many, etc. more "many's" were omitted to keep the story flowing at its oh-so-quick pace_ times. This made Aragorn a bit uncomfortable. Was he going to fall for every hot elf that happened to cross his path?

"Aragorn…" murmured Legolas in a husky and seductive voice.

Oh, Valar. Apparently, yes.

"We've always been friends, Aragorn," said Legolas, _echoing every bad Aragorn/Legolas slash fanfic the author has ever read. _"Do you think we could be something more?"

Legolas suddenly remembered that Aragorn was involved with another Elf.

"What about Arwen?" he asked.

"Screw Arwen," said Aragorn. Legolas's lower lip began to tremble.

"If you didn't want me, you could have just—"

"Not literally," Aragorn hastily amended. He began to murmur some really nauseating sweet nothings into the possibly-pointed ear of the Elf.

**AND NOW FOR THE KISS**

They kissed, a kiss full of passion and romance and trumpets and joy and beauty and True Love® and promises and tongues. They had big mouths.

Still locked onto each other's lips, partially because those trumpets were getting in the way, Aragorn and Legolas sank onto the bed_. This bed had been placed there for the purposes of furthering the story by the author._

_They proceeded to do some things that have been censored so this story can remain at a T rating. _In fact, said actions so disgusted the bed that it quit and left the story to go console poor Tolkein in his grave. Aragorn and Legolas didn't notice.

It wasn't until morning when Legolas had woken up, disentangled the trumpet from his mouth, kissed Aragorn's snoring lips, and used one of the pregnancy testers a Mary Sue had accidentally dropped into his bag that he noticed the absence of the bed. And his manly Elf-dress. And, for that matter, all of his clothing and Aragorn's.

The bed blew a raspberry at him from inside a bathtub that had not been there last night. It scrubbed itself one more time for good measure, shuddered with disgust, and then left the cave.

Aragorn opened sleepy eyes, looked questioningly at Legolas, and hopped into the tub. Legolas followed.

The bathtub groaned.

_Another A/N: This may become a series of slash parodies, depending on interest and reviews. So if you like the idea, writing, or humour, review and tell the author, who will probably not speak in third person in future instalments because it's annoying. Constructive criticism will be used to improve the story. Flames will be used to heat bathwater._


	2. Merry and Pippin

Disclaimer #2: The annoying still-third-person author (thankfully for the characters) does not own LOTR.

_A/N: The author received several requests to not only continue the story but to continue the third-person. So here goes. You asked for it. She also wishes to inform all who ask that she is an evil twisted person. This explains a lot. She says that she is delighted that she got so many reviews. She likes reviews very much, and has a special slash parody surprise for when she reaches the 50 mark. Speaking of, she is taking suggestions for future chapters. Any slash to make fun of is more than welcome. Currently, she's taking on the most prevalent ones, but those exhaust themselves pretty quickly._

**Chapter 2: Merry and Pippin**

Pippin was, as usual, hungry. He was currently raiding the kitchen at Great Smials wearing his cloak from Galadriel. This last was so his cook, who was usually a very understanding hobbit, wouldn't see him. She was only understanding until you tried to steal food _she _wanted for her midnight snack.

"Master Peregrin, is that you?" Pippin tried to sneak away. How was it that she always caught him? Always? He shoved a few extra rolls in his mouth and ducked as a rolling pin was swung at his head.

Pippin knew where he wasn't wanted. Grabbing a mushroom casserole on his way out, he ran out of the kitchen. And bumped into Merry.

"Pip, is that you?" asked Merry, unconsciously echoing the cook. Pippin took the cloak off to prove Merry right. "I told you already, that cloak only works outside, when you have rocks and trees and dirt and… and… and other things that are grey and green and brown. Not in here, where everything is honey-coloured and golden and yellow and the green of a new leaf."

Merry was so poetic. Pippin could feel his heart trembling with love.

The next minute, an invisible being was walloping him about the head.

_"That isn't right!" _it yelled, for some reason in italics and underlined. _"You two are cousins! And anyway, the romance doesn't happen until a few hundred words in."_

"Sorry," said Pippin. Merry gave him a funny look. It was at that moment that Pippin realised just how strange he must look, trying to fend off an invisible foe, apparently talking to thin air, and trying to keep six rolls in his mouth at the same time.. And, of course, it had to happen in front of the hobbit he loved.

_"I'm warning you…"_

His cousin, then.

Pippin ate the rolls during the very awkward, long silence. He might as well do _something _productive. And he liked rolls.

"When's dinner?" asked Merry. "I'm hungry."

Pippin was also hungry. _For food! The author tells you to get your mind out of the gutter._ Right now, he wanted nothing more than a mushroom stew, some devilled eggs, and three-quarters of a large perch with butter sauce. He also had a strange and unexplainable craving for anachronistic fried chicken, and very anachronistic Jell-o.

"In too long," said Pippin wistfully. He supposed they wouldn't be serving Jell-o, either. It was a shame.

"Good," said Merry, striking a seductive pose. Well, Pippin thought it was seductive, anyway. To normal hobbit eyes, it looked like a leg of chicken just waiting to be devoured. It reminded Pippin, however, of fried chicken. And that made all the difference.

Merry broke into the jackhammer-like noise of Pippin's stomach with the comment of, "I need to talk to you."

He took Pippin into the very nice guest bedroom that he was using at the moment. Pippin was extremely jealous of the guest bedrooms. They were bigger than his, and they had minibars.

Merry sat down on the bed. It looked a lot squishier than Pippin's, too. Life was unfair.

"Pippin, I think it's time to make an incestuous comment."

Pippin's hobbit-heart leaped with joy. He waited for his articulate cousin to say something.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, Merry said, "Well? What about the incestuous comment? Seductive pose? Snack?"

"I thought you were making the incestuous comment," said Pippin, striking a seductive pose that resembled Jell-o if you squinted at it long enough.

"I told you to make the incestuous comment," said Merry, going over to the minibar and getting himself a boiled egg.

"Well, I can't think of one."

"Neither can I."

_The author came over and whispered into Pippin's ear, just for the sake of the plot._

"An invisible being has just told me to say, 'We've always been cousins, Merry. Do you think we could be something more?'" commented Pippin.

_Who said it had to be original?_

"Good comment," said Merry.

Again, there was a huge kiss containing mouth-to-mouth regurgitation and other things you'd rather not know about, like True Love®. _The author, however, learned from the problems with the trumpets last time and thoughtfully didn't include them._

_She used tubas instead._

The tubas were rather large and unwieldy, especially considering it was a pair of hobbits they were attaching. Merry and Pippin, however, were at this point oblivious to any and all brass instruments. They were too busy torturing the bed and Tolkein.

They proceeded to make incest fans very happy, generally doing things that incest fans like to read about. _Fill in the blanks. _

"I love you, Pippin."

"I love you, Merry."

Actually, both statements sounded like they were talking underwater, but love breaks all language barriers, it is said. Or is it? It did in this case.

"Bloobl?" asked Merry.

"Blurrrb, b glb boolb," answered Pippin.

They made incest fans deliriously happy once more, and then dressed. Pippin tried to kiss Merry, but the tuba was in the way.

A knock came on the door. "Master Meriadoc? Dinner's ready."

Holding hands, they ran out of the room.

They hit a wall and dented the tubas.


	3. Arwen and Éowyn

Disclaimer: Poor, poor, Tolkein, who really doesn't deserve a birthday present, even a late one, like this. 

The author also don't own Yoda.

_A/N: The author is very sorry for not updating in so long. She would like each and every one of you to accept her (late) holiday gift of a pair of virtual tubas. First reviewer gets the authentic ones used in the last chapter, plus a bag of virtual popcorn chicken the author received for her review of a story, yet cannot eat. (She is a vegetarian.) Review for virtual tubas and a special slashy surprise!_

_The author thanks Almenel for the pairing._

**Travesty 3: Arwen and Éowyn**

Arwen Undomiel was not a happy elf. In fact, one could go so far as to say she was unhappy. She drummed her perfectly manicured nails on her horse's mane angrily. Who did Aragorn think he was? More to the point, who did he think _Arwen _was? Did he think she wasn't as beautiful as Legolas? That was preposterous. Arwen, at least, was actually female.

What if she wasn't as beautiful as Legolas? A crease furrowed her perfect, Lúthien-esque, alabaster brow in worry. She would visit Aragorn in the transparent periwinkle nightgown she had packed and ask him. That was why she was on a horse, in the middle of Eru-forsaken _Rohan_, sporting a manicure. Arwen hoped her father wouldn't worry too much about her. She'd just go to Helm's Deep, where she knew Aragorn was, kiss some sense into the man, beat up Legolas, and then come back home. She had detailed all this in the note she'd left on her bed. Everything was all planned out.

It was raining when Arwen arrived at Helm's Deep. For some reason, elves were marching into the little fleabite fortress.

_The author thought this was supposed to be bookverse._

For some reason, all the elves vanished. The gatekeepers looked puzzled. Then again, they were the type whose default state was confusion. Arwen took advantage of this and rode in the open gate.

"There hey! Lady! You are who? Permission do you have from Théoden King to enter here?" shouted one of the men.

"Oh, get your word order right," said Arwen, in no mood to be bothered by stupid gatekeepers.

_Oh, fine then. Movieverse. It simplifies things._

The elves reappeared, and the gatekeepers simply nodded and waved them through, including Arwen. _Whatever else that was, it was a stroke of luck, _thought Arwen.

She was in. Now where was Aragorn? Arwen found a deserted stable to change in, slipped off her travel gown, and stepped into her transparent dress. She put her cloak back on, just so unwashed Rohirrim wouldn't constantly ogle her and lose the battle for not paying attention.

Not that Arwen cared about the battle. All she wanted was a little time alone with Aragorn. And there he was!

"Estel!" she cried.

"Eh?" said Aragorn. "You are who?"

"Not you too," moaned Arwen. Grabbing his cloaked arm, she dragged him into a conveniently placed shed. _Valar, let me not break a nail, _she prayed. She sat Aragorn down on a haystack in the shape of a bed.

Pulling off her cloak, she said, "Hello, Estel."

Arwen enjoyed watching her beloved's eyes bugging out of his head.

She did not enjoy it when the little door to the shed smashed open, leaving a frantic-looking standing in the doorway and sputtering incoherent things at the pair.

Finally, he got out, "Sit on that do not! First place it won in the Competition Straw-Sculpting All-Rohan!"

"That might sound prestigious if I knew what you were saying," muttered Arwen, with doom in her voice and fire in her eyes.

A few minutes later, all the Hornburg saw a man burst out of the roof of the abandoned shed.

"Stupid was he for going in there. Knows everybody that unsafe it is."

Then all the Hornburg, most of the Uruk-hai that were still a mile or so away, Gandalf, Éomer and his men, Treebeard, Merry, Pippin, Saruman, Quickbeam, assorted other Ents, and for some inexplicable reason, Mr. Random Haradrim, a random Haradrim in Harad, heard a crumbling sound and then a screech of despair.

"Eeek! I broke a nail!"

"Oh, pull yourself together," said Arwen.

Arwen was sick of it all. She decided to cut to the point. Letting a strap of her dress fall suggestively over her shoulder, she said in her best and most grammatically correct Elvish soap opera voice, "Whom do you love, Estel? Legolas or me?"

"Er…uh…er…uh…er…" said Aragorn.

"There hey!" said a soldier. "Lady! In the Glittering Caves supposed to be you are!"

"Er…uh…er…uh…er…uh…er…uh…"

"Fine," snapped Arwen. "I'm going. Going I'm. Oh, and Estel, when you do figure it out, come and tell me." She stalked off.

"Lady! In the other direction the Glittering Caves are," said Arwen's helpful soldier guide. Guide soldier.

Arwen made a rude hand gesture not normally associated with Elves.

Then she flounced off to the Glittering Caves, inspecting her dress for rubble.

In spite of all her aesthetic principles, Arwen had to admit that the Glittering Caves were…impressive. They were just a bit tacky and glittery for her. And the huddling women and snot-faced kids kind of ruined the image.

Wait. Who in the name of the Valar was that?

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing here, Legolas? I thought you were supposed to be out there fighting to defend the fleabite and all the backwards-talking people in it!"

Legolas stared at her. Several mothers grabbed their children and pulled them away from Arwen. She glared at them dramatically.

Finally, one woman got up the courage to whisper helpful advice into Arwen's ear. Except they were all avoiding Arwen like the plague, so she cupped her hand around her mouth and shouted in the Elf's general direction.

"THE LADY ÉOWYN, SHIELDMAIDEN OF ROHAN THAT IS. THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN TO GUIDE SHE IS HERE. MIGHTY UPSET ABOUT IT SHE IS, TOO."

"I'm sorry," said Arwen. "You reminded me of a…girl I know. The hair."

Éowyn nodded. "You mean Legoblocks? She's a girl? I wasn't sure."

Arwen was in heaven. The woman could actually string together a coherent sentence with words in their correct places. She went over to sit by Éowyn. _I'll show Mr. Scruffy Rangerman that I, too, can have an affair with a blonde. See how he likes _that.

So Arwen said, "I love you."

Éowyn looked around. "Who?"

Time for the grammatically correct Elvish soap opera. "Whom. You, you gorgeous piece of blonde-ness that I just met five seconds ago." And then she kissed her. _Take that, Aragorn._

_At this point, the author would like to offer a dissertation on brass instruments. She has decided that they really hinder the romantic potential of her stories, so she resolves not to use them for a bit and see how it turns out._

_Why is there a bassoon sticking out of my mouth? _wondered Arwen.

As Arwen and Éowyn deepened the—er—bassoon-lock, several Rohirric mothers averted their eyes and covered those of their children. A few of the dumb little things couldn't resist the temptation to look, however, and were scarred for life. For one of them, it was enough of a shock to qualify as a tragic past, and she went on to star in a number of Mary Sue stories.

After many cinematic explosions and a couple graphic deaths and one wizard riding down a hill, Aragorn had come to a conclusion.

Arwen sat in the caves, counting her bruises. She'd never realised how _pointy _rocks were before.

"Arwen!" called Aragorn. "I've decided!"

"Twenty-three," said Arwen.

"I love you, Arwen," he said. "I mean, Legolas is a hunk of sheer manly blonde Elf-ness, but he's nothing compared to you. You are the ultimate hunk of sheer manly brunette—"

Arwen and Éowyn simultaneously hit him over the head with their bassoons.


	4. Dear Author

Disclaimer: The author does not not own nothing. 

_A/N: As a special Valentine's Day treat, the author is publishing a letter she recently received. No, there are no intense romantic moments involving various wind instruments, but the author hopes that you will enjoy this and look for Travesty 4, coming soon to a computer near you._

**Special Valentine's Day Treat: Dear Author**

Dear Author,

We cannot hide our hearts away

We come to kill you now, today.

You've killed our love and killed our lives

Now we're abused by our lovely wives (except Arwen, Éowyn, Boromir, and Legolas, who don't have wives, but that ruins the meter and rhyme scheme)

How dare you wreck our characters?

We're giving you death stare-ac-ters

(It's Arwen's fault, about the rhyme,

But she said she wrote poems in her spare time.)

Legolas, stop trying to write poetry

I'm better than you, which you know-e-try

Sure. Yeah. Okay.

See? He didn't write in verse

Now his line I shall dramatically curse

But Arwen, you cannot do magic

And anyway, that would be tragic

(For Legolas's descendants not to be seen

That would be really mean.)

Shut up, Aragorn. Nobody asked you. Why did we agree to make this stupid thing rhyme, anyway? Can any of us actually _write _poetry?

It was Pippin's idea!

It was? I don't remember suggesting it.

I sense a rapid degradation in quality here.

Fine, then you write it, Faramir.

Wait! Boromir, that rhymed! You write it!

Poetry is for girls.

What was the original purpose of this, anyway?

And Merry, why are you writing down everything we say?

You rhymed again! You're a natural!

Fine.

Eru, I hate poetry

But I hate slash more, this I know-e-try

Hey!

I already used that rhyme today!

This looks terrible.

Arwen, won't you go away?

Please, just get along.

What kind of a poem is that?

It sounds like it was regurgitated by a cat.

All right, look. What do we want to accomplish here?

We want to punish that stupid slash author!

Cor-rect! And we want to do it in…

Poem form!

Very good. Now, we shall sing to the tune of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Bit 'o Mithril–"

"Bit 'o _Mithril_?" That's a _Dwarvish _song, Faramir!

That's it. I'm leaving and getting a beer.

But Boromir!

You have a natural gift for verse!

To abandon it would be a curse!

Arwen already used verse-curse, Merry.

How about "This Old Hobbit?"

A perennial favourite.

Fine.

We hate slash, it's no fun

Don't play nick-nack and make us dumb

With a big-evil-pen-oh-you-are-really-cruel

Over random people don't make us drool.

I think that about sums it up. That and we're coming to kill you.

Much love,

Aragorn, Legolas, Merry, Pippin, Éowyn, Arwen, Boromir, and Faramir

P.S. If you know what nick-nack is, can you please tell us?

P.P.S. Bilbo suggested this one: If you can answer this riddle when we get to your house, Aragorn won't behead you.

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck

If a woodchuck could chuck wood?

And if a woodchuck could chuck wood

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck?


End file.
